


The Obligatory Starbucks Fanfic

by secretlycthulhu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coffee Shops, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Starbucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretlycthulhu/pseuds/secretlycthulhu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It’s a mocha cookie crumble frappuccino," answered Steve defensively at Bucky’s judgemental tone of voice. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. mocha cookie crumble frappuccino

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a simple prompt, and I only intended to make it the one chapter, but I got hooked. So I leave you here with a much longer, much sadder fanfiction than was originally intended. I hope you enjoy it, and stay tuned for chapter updates!

\--  
There were a lot of things that Bucky hated about his time spent at starbucks, but a lot of other things made it better.  
  
He didn’t know how Steve did it every weekday morning. The constant buzz of people entering and leaving, the crappy coffee, weird names for everything… It was a mystery to him, as was the entire franchise itself. If you’re going to have a coffee business, then what the fuck is this garbage excuse for coffee? Bucky glared at his cup, feeling betrayed by the pure shittiness of it, but said nothing to Steve about it.  
  
The two of them had just got back from their daily morning run. Bucky was trying to re-discover himself, figure out who exactly he was before the war, and he knew that being around Steve was the best way to do that. But being around Steve meant following Steve’s daily routine, which meant morning run then Starbucks Monday through Friday, then more running, then checking in with the other avengers every other day to see what all was going on, and countless other things that Bucky didn’t really see as that important. But he kept at it, and kept fairly quiet. He let Steve tell him stories, let Steve show him around the city, let him smile and point and look around with wonder with those baby blue eyes. And he ignored that weird feeling in his gut whenever Steve turned those eyes on him.  
  
Bucky wrapped his hands around the crappy coffee sitting in front of him on the table. He watched the steam rising from it, and was thinking about how horribly he wanted a cigarette when Steve’s name was called from the counter and he watched him move to grab his… _What the hell is that_?  
  
"It’s a mocha cookie crumble frappuccino," answered Steve defensively at Bucky’s judgmental tone of voice. For the first time in a long time, Bucky felt like laughing.  
  
"What? They’re good, okay?" Steve looked down, a light pink dusting over his face.  
  
He immediately stopped feeling the urge to laugh once Steve started drinking it, though. Bucky watched as he pulled the straw out and licked it, his tongue collecting all the foam tantalizingly, and the look on Steve’s face was just, well, just unfair. Bucky froze as he sucked on the straw, eyes closed and expression filled with bliss. He watched Steve dip a finger in the foam on the top and suck it off, and wow, was Steve always this goddamn sexy?  
  
Steve started talking about how bad the coffee was when they were in the war, and on any other day Bucky would have been paying attention, but instead his eyes were focused on Steve’s fingers twirling the straw around, the way his eyelashes looked when he blinked, the formation of his lips around the straw when he took sips of his drink, and Bucky could feel his face getting red and was slowly becoming aware of other issues when Steve offered him a sip.  
  
"You’re staring at this pretty hard, Buck, do you want some?" Steve laughed. Bucky blinked, swallowed hard, and reluctantly took the cup over to his side of the table.  
It definitely wasn’t as good as Steve seemed to think it was. Way too sweet, definitely. But all Bucky could think about was how his lips weren’t the only ones that had touched this straw. He wished he had liked it, wished he could drink more of it just to have more indirect contact with Steve’s lips, but one sip was enough for him, and he slid it back to his best friend. His only friend.  
  
"You all right, Buck?" Steve murmured, leaning on the table.  
  
Bucky tried not to stare at the way that Steve’s huge hands engulfed the cup, tried not to look at the tiny bit of foam above Steve’s upper lip, tried not to watch the rise and fall of Steve’s chest as he breathed evenly.  
  
"Yeah," said Bucky. "I’m all right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has at least one fic that takes place in a starbucks. This is mine, by request. I think I might add more chapters. What do you think?


	2. iced caramel macchiato

“What do you like about this place?” Bucky asked Steve a week later as he sat down with his usual small black cup of coffee. It never got finished. Sometimes he would take a couple bites of coffee cake, but only if Steve got it, and only if Steve insisted that he have some. If Steve noticed his disdain for the quality of Starbucks coffee, he didn't say anything about it.  
  
“I dunno,” Steve murmured. “It's nice. It feels like a nice little cafe, and it's cheap, you know?” Something about that sentence struck Bucky as familiar. He seemed to remember Steve always being someone who was looking for good deals, like maybe he couldn't afford too much when they were younger.  
  
“I remember that,” said Bucky quietly. “You... Didn't like to buy real expensive stuff.”  
  
Steve's eyes lit up. “Yeah,” he laughed, “I didn't really have a lot of money, you know. You didn't either, so when we were living together, we had to be really cheap. You were a lot better at making money though, you always had some job or another, even when the job market was awful, you could charm your way into just about any position. I was too sickly to keep any job for too long.”  
  
Bucky stared off into space, a distant memory of a wet washcloth and a scrawny kid Steve, the taste of cough syrup hanging in the air.  
  
Steve's name was called as Bucky tried to focus in on details, tried to remember more, but it was too foggy, too distant. He put his head in his hands and stared down at the coffee as Steve returned with a new fancy drink.  
  
“What's this one's ridiculous name?” Bucky muttered.  
  
“It's an iced caramel macchiato,” explained Steve in a matter-of-fact voice, “and it's delicious.”  
  
The two of them sat silently for a while, Steve absentmindedly flipping through a newspaper while sipping his iced coffee. Poor excuse for coffee, thought Bucky. But he tried not to show disdain for the fancy drink, due to the pure ecstasy on Steve's face while he drank, the way that he bit the straw when he laughed at the comics in the paper, the way he stirred it, the way he did everything. It was like Steve was deliberately trying to make Bucky aroused, with the way he was treating that coffee. Like it was some kind of show.  
  
“What?” asked Steve with a smile when he caught Bucky staring at him as he sucked from his straw.  
  
“Nothing,” said Bucky, just a bit too fast. “Nothing at all.”  
  
“So,” Steve said, looking down at his drink. He was drinking it tantalizingly slow, savoring every drop, and Bucky was very much all right with that. “Have you been remembering anything new?”  
  
Bucky stared down at the table, feeling full of weird emotions but somehow still not enough at all. He focused on a particular swirl in the wood grain. “Not sure. I've... Been having some nightmares.”  
  
Bucky could feel Steve's eyes on him. They didn't seem to want to leave him. “What were the nightmares about?”  
“I... I think it was before I fell, but maybe it's getting all jumbled up... I remember being heavily drugged. And then I remember Zola, and thats where it starts to get fuzzy, and all that happens in the nightmare is pain and screaming, and darkness. And then I feel cold,” Bucky stammers this out. He still isn't used to sharing all of his dreams or his memories with Steve, but he's getting better at it. At first he struggled to even talk to him in complete sentences, or any sentence longer than 5 words. The name Bucky still feels a little weird to him, but he likes the way it rolls off of Steve's tongue like it was always meant to be there, likes the way that Steve's eyes get all bright when he says it.  
  
It makes him feel guilty, though. He knows he can't ever be James Buchanan Barnes again, at least not the one that Steve knew. Because alongside the memories of the days before the war are memories from afterwards, memories of torture, memories of gruesome murder, confusion, submission.  
  
“I did find you after Zola had been experimenting on you a little during the war,” commented Steve, with a sad, distant look in his eyes. “You were in pretty rough shape. It was hard to see you like that.”  
  
Bucky said nothing in response and glanced down at his now cold coffee. As strange as it was, he liked the way the silence hung in the air between them, liked how he could feel at least a bit more comfortable around Steve than anywhere else, even when they weren't speaking. He had started to like their daily visits to this place more and more, too, because the quiet clinking of glasses and light chatter of the morning filled in the silence, but not too much, just enough to make it feel more comfortable, more like home, and he liked to see Steve at ease, too, and something about this place made his friend's shoulders relax and his face lighten up. Maybe it was the coffee, thought Bucky. But he still didn't drink his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I broke down and wrote a chapter two. Not really sure where this story is going, but I hope to wrap it up around chapter 4 or 5. Any suggestions on what fancy-ass drink Steve should drink next can go in the comments <3


	3. double chocolaty chip frappuccino® blended crème

Late on a Sunday evening, or, I guess, early Monday morning, Bucky woke himself up screaming. He couldn't exactly remember what the nightmare was about, but it had something to do with his left arm, but he didn't know what. It was something scary, and something deep.  
  
He climbed out of the sweat-stained sheets on the couch he had started calling a “bed.” Steve only had one bed in his apartment. And even though it was cool outside, Bucky felt sticky, overheated.  
  
He walked to the bathroom and stripped, still half asleep, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. He stood there, looking at his reflection, at his shaggy hair, at the darkness under his eyes, and tried to imagine himself as James Buchanan Barnes. He pulled his hair back, tried to change how it sat on his head so it would look more like the man he saw in the exhibit at the Smithsonian, but it was too long and too messy, and his attempts at changing how it looked degenerated quickly into him combing through it with his fingers absentmindedly. He stared at his shoulder in the mirror reflection, eyes following the prominent scars on it, resting where skin met metal. He shifted his weight slightly, looked down at his chest, his crotch, his knees, his toes.  
  
A light snore came from a room away.  
  
Sometimes, he wondered if Steve Rogers had always been such a mystery to him.  
  
Steve.  
  
Bucky leaned against the bathroom wall, releasing a breath that it felt like he had been holding forever as he took his cock in his right hand. He felt wrong for doing this, for thinking of his best friend while doing this, but it was all that really got him off these days. It was rare that he masturbated, but ever since he had moved in with Steve it became harder to resist. He hated the feeling, hated how good it felt, hated how when he closed his eyes all he could think of was Steve, gorgeous fucking Steve with his beautiful eyes and his chest and the bulge in his pants and his—oh, fuck, there, and Bucky bit his lip, not making a sound as he felt his release hit his stomach and drip down.  
  
Bucky sank to the floor and let the semen dry on his stomach for a while before he toweled off, put on his clothes, and sat back down on the couch. The whole thing made him feel so unclean, thinking of the guy sleeping a room over, the only one who knew you before all of this, and then jacking off in his bathroom, but Bucky shut the guilt out. He was very good at shutting things out, sometimes too good. Steve was always trying to get him to speak about his feelings, to share them, to not let them get locked away like they always did.  
  
But some feelings are meant to stay as secrets.  
  
–  
  
“Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino® Blended Crème,” Steve answered before Bucky could even ask, as he sat down across from him at their usual booth. “Did you get enough sleep last night, Buck? You look a little tired.”  
  
Bucky shrugged. Steve pushed his coffee cake across the tabletop. Bucky sighed and looked up at him.  
  
“I already ate.”  
  
“That's a lie,” said Steve, “And we both know it. Eat some. As long as you're living with me, I'm going to make sure you don't starve.” Bucky picked up the fork and took a couple reluctant bites. He didn't have an appetite this morning, could hardly even look Steve in the eye without feeling embarrassed about his early morning escapade to the bathroom. He could feel Steve watching him as he poked his fork at a crumb aimlessly.  
  
Bucky was not one to speak in excess, not at all. Today's silence, however, had a certain air about it that made it more intense than the average day. Every part of Bucky screamed to fill the silence that felt like it was swallowing him whole. Something felt off.  
  
Steve leaned forward on the table with his elbows. “You okay, Bucky?” Bucky could feel his breath hitch, his heart go fast, his vision ebb. A queasiness fell over him like a blanket and he rose quickly, a little too quickly, and he was suddenly aware of the nausea, and Steve was standing up too, saying something to him that sounded so distant, but Bucky was already walking quickly, albeit clumsily, to the bathrooms, and he soon found himself retching over the toilet bowl in the stall, tears in the corners of his eyes. He choked down a sob as he wiped his mouth with a couple squares of rough toilet paper, and was coughing and trying to collect himself when a warm hand touched his back.  
  
“Bucky, hey, are you okay?” Steve rubbed his back gently, kneeling half-beside and half-behind him. “What's wrong?”  
  
“Dunno,” Bucky muttered, but this had happened before. The last time he found himself sobbing and puking and shaking like he was going to freeze, he concluded it was some kind of anxiety thing, some sort of deep-rooted trauma that he hadn't accessed in his memories yet but his body remembered. He wanted to know what had happened to him in full, deserved to know the full extent to his trauma, but still, he was scared of what he might find.  
  
“Shh, shh, I've got you,” Steve murmured as he wrapped his arm around Bucky, helping him stand. “Let's go home.”  
  
All that Bucky could do was lean into the warmth and the comfort, and hope that this wouldn't be the last time Steve would hold him this close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, so it'll be getting kinda dirty from here on out. Hope you enjoy!


	4. hazelnut macchiato

“Are we going to talk about this?” Steve was leaning against the door-frame in the bathroom as Bucky sat against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and breathing deep. He could feel Steve's eyes on him-- piercing and thoughtful. It felt like Steve was pulling him apart like a puzzle. Bucky said nothing.

“This hasn't happened in a while,” Steve said. Bucky opened his eyes, just enough to watch Steve from his peripheral vision. Steve's big, beautiful hand was in the air, making some sort of a gesture. “An anxiety attack. You haven't had one for a while. Do you want to... Talk to me about what you're feeling?”

“I'd rather not right now.” Bucky lowered his head, pulling his knees in close to his body, becoming small.

“You promise that we can talk about it later though, right?” Steve shifted his weight uneasily.

“Mmhm.” Bucky nodded gently, closing his eyes, breathing in, breathing out, breathing in...

“Can I... Can I touch you?” Bucky's rhythmic breathing hitched as Steve slid down next to him. “Or is it too much?”

“Yeah, you can,” Bucky stammered. Steve put an arm around him, his hand wrapping around his prosthetic shoulder. Bucky let himself breathe when he realized that this was what Steve meant. He shouldn't have thought otherwise. 

Stark had been working on his arm, making slight improvements, inspecting the technology, increasing its capacity for performing daily activities. This meant that Bucky could feel Steve's fingers rubbing his shoulder, as if it were real, but the feeling was a little distant. He pulled Bucky a little closer and rested his head on his real shoulder.

Bucky could remember this.

He must have just broken up with a girl, he remembered having teary eyes, a bad taste in his mouth, confusion and frustration and pain, but he could remember the smaller boy scooting up to him, resting a head on his shoulders, absentmindedly tracing circles on his shoulder. He remembered looking up and seeing the window, the leaves were reddish-orange, getting ready to fall away.

“I was thinking of cooking up some pasta tonight,” Steve said softly, gently pulling Bucky out from his memory. “Maybe I'll make pesto. Banner told me about a website that has lots of recipes on it that are really good, and you can look at reviews. It seems pretty good. Would you like that?”

Bucky nodded, then paused, thinking hard. “I've always loved your cooking.”

Steve laughed. “You never left a morsel on your plate, but you still told me my cooking was sup-par to your own. You were an awful cook, though.”

Bucky smiled, just a little, as he listened to Steve ramble on about some time he accidentally used salt instead of sugar in a batch of cookies, or the time he ruined their tiny, low-budget thanksgiving. He didn't really hear the words, just absorbed Steve's voice. But under his enjoyment of the way Steve's eyes lit up, the nostalgia and caring in his voice, he felt a pang of pain.

He wished he could be the Bucky that Steve used to know.

–

“I dunno, Nat, I don't think I can.... No, I have to be here, y'know, for.. Yeah.” Bucky stared at the ceiling, listening to Steve on the phone in the other room. It was about 9pm. He figured that Nat was probably calling to try and convince Steve to help her with some more Hydra cleanup. There weren't many people from old shield willing to help, and Steve and Nat were close.

Natalia was a real beauty. He hadn't spoken with her more than once, when Steve first took him in. She spoke to him in Russian, and he barely responded. She was beautiful but intimidating, and he could see that even though she seemed calm and trusting on the outside, she was ready to attack him if she needed to. He could tell that she was armed and dangerous. He liked his girls tough, spunky, intense. But he did not like Natalia in that way.

He wondered absentmindedly if Steve had eyes for her. Steve had looked at her with more love and respect than Bucky thought was appropriate for someone who was formerly KGB. But Steve denied any feelings for her. “She's like a sister,” he had said, shaking his head and laughing a little. “I'm pretty much certain that she and Clint are a thing, too.”  


Bucky's eyes traced constellations in the popcorn ceiling, thinking about what would happen if Steve left, if he found a girl and Bucky had to move out.

“Natasha,” Steve said with a harsher tone, “I said no. I want to help, but he needs...” Steve paused, his voice a little quieter, “I need to be with him right now. … Yeah. We can meet up and talk about it sometime this week.”

A long pause. “God, I don't know, Nat, I don't think it's right. I don't know if it's the right thing to... Yeah.”

Steve's voice trailed off as he wandered deeper into the apartment, and Bucky was soon unable to distinguish words from sounds. He closed his eyes, and let Steve's muffled voice carry him to sleep.

–  


The Tuesday morning sun crept up over the city as Steve tied his shoelaces, hair still a little wet from his morning shower. Bucky pulled his own hair back into a loose ponytail. He still wasn't sure about cutting it short yet, but he trimmed it, and had been trying his best to take better care of it than he had been. It was still shaggy, but it was definitely less ratty. Steve had laughed a little when Bucky told him that he needed some hair binders, but had shown up with tons of them later that day, along with some new shampoo and conditioner, a little styling product, too.

The new running shorts that Steve had bought for Bucky were a little on the short side, made him feel a little exposed. He wasn't used to wearing lightweight clothes, found strange comfort in body armor, weighed down by bullets and blades. His shirt was strange, too. Steve had bought him a bunch of white shirts from a pack to use for exercise, along with some gray ones, but had ignored the labels completely other than the size-relevant parts, so every morning, Bucky either wore one of Steve's shirts, or he rocked a v-neck. 

It may not have been what he would have worn had he bought the clothes, but it was thankfully light and easy to exercise in. And something about the fact that they were his clothes, his very own clothes, made him feel oddly good.

The two of them generally kept a pretty even pace, running side by side, but Bucky occasionally let himself fall back to watch Steve. It was hard not to admire, in the early hours of morning, the way that Steve's back muscles moved, the way his sweat made the shirt cling to every delicious inch of him. The sunlight cast a golden glow around him, and Bucky wondered, for just a moment, if he was looking at an angel. 

“C'mon, you can do better than that!” Steve turned, jogging backwards, a sassy half-smile on his face. The front of his shirt was clinging to his chest, his pecs, his abs, his nipples, his arms. Bucky tried his very best not to pop a boner as he quickened his pace again. Steve started running faster too, and soon it was almost a chase, the two of them speeding after eachother through central park. When Bucky finally caught up, Steve threw an arm around his shoulder with a laugh. The two of them had managed to lose their breath a little, and they slowed down to a steady walk. Bucky smiled.

Their routine morning continued as they walked into the Starbucks they always went to. The baristas remembered them, and within seconds of them entering, they were already working on a small black coffee for Bucky.

“What'll it be today, Steve?” the woman at the counter asked with a flirty grin. Steve pressed his hands down on the counter and leaned to see the menu.  
“I'll have a hazelnut macchiato today,” he said with a charming smile to the woman. Bucky watched her as Steve paid, watched the blush dance across her cheeks and her smile as she exchanged a glance with a coworker of hers. He knew that Steve could take her out whenever he wanted. Hell, Steve could probably have any girl he wanted. He didn't know why he didn't, why he never saw Steve bring a girl back home. Surely he knew how many hearts he made flutter on the daily with just a smile or a nod, even a glance. Bucky hoped he wasn't as easy to read as the girl behind the Starbucks counter. 

“Good run today,” said Steve, as he sat down at their table with his drink and a cheesecake brownie.  
“Mmhm,” replied Bucky quietly, as he looked down at his coffee. 

Steve chattered about how he wanted to formally introduce him to Sam, something about how the three of them could go running together in the mornings, but maybe Sam wouldn't be up for that, cause of the whole super-soldier thing happening with Bucky and him, and how it was really funny how Sam got all frustrated last time they went on a run together, and how Steve kept egging him on. 

Bucky watched Steve more than he listened, watched the way that the foam from his drink got caught on his upper lip, how his tongue darted out of those lips to lick it off. Steve missed a spot, and for a while, Bucky wondered if he should tell him, or if he should just go over there and press his lips to it himself, sucking and licking and kissing his lips.

“Um, you have some- On your lip...” Bucky interrupted Steve after he eventually settled for the first option, no matter how appealing the second one was.

“Hm?” Steve tried to get it with his finger, but couldn't seem to find it, even though it was right there, right near the corner. “Can you get it for me?”

Steve leaned over the table, and Bucky's hand was shaking just a little as he reached out, cupping Steve's face in his hand, wiping the foam off with his thumb just a little slower than he needed to. It was hard not to kiss him here, especially when those eyes were staring back at him, when he could feel just the tiniest bit of stubble on Steve's face left over from a shave. Instead, he pulled his hand away, but let his fingers drag over Steve's cheek so lightly that they were barely touching his skin.

Bucky wondered if he was imagining the blush that crept over his friend's face, or he way he bashfully smiled at his feet. He really hoped that he hadn't.


	5. no creamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Shit's about to get real.)

\--

“You sure you want to do this?” Bucky asked Steve hesitantly.

“Yeah,” said Steve. “The team needs someone to be Captain America. I figure I might as well do something to help them.”

Steve was packing up his old suit in a backpack, then picked up the shield, turning it over in his hands a couple times. “I think Sam will make a good Captain America. I honestly couldn't see myself giving the title to anyone else but him.”

Bucky smiled a little. He could see Steve wasn't necessarily happy, but he didn't look upset. He looked mostly at ease with his decision to hand over the shield for a while, at least until he was ready.

The two of them put on their jogging gear, Steve with the shield strapped to his back and Bucky wearing the backpack containing the suit, and the two of them jogged to Sam's house, where they were greeted and invited in immediately.

“Coffee?” Sam offered.

“Yeah, uh, do you have any creamer?” Steve smiled. Sam thought for a second.

“Don't think so, I have some milk and sugar though.”

“Sounds good. I like my coffee extra creamy,” Steve said. Bucky gave him a look, and Steve returned a snarky little grin that made Bucky's heart flutter just a little.

The three of them sat down together. Bucky still hadn't officially met Sam, and hadn't really spoken with anyone other than Steve since Steve took him in. Sam was calm and respectful of Bucky's boundaries, though, and Steve did the talking for the two of them.

“Bucky and I, we... We need time.” Steve looked down at the shield, still in his hands. “And the world could really use another hero. The Avengers-- Nat, Tony, Clint, Banner, Thor... They're doing a lot of great work with Hydra clean-up, but they need help. They need a Captain. I'm just not the one to be wearing the suit right now.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, and hesitated just a little before responding. “You want me to be Captain America?”

“Yeah, basically.” Steve smiled, that half smile that reminded Bucky of movie stars.

It took some convincing, but Sam eventually accepted. After lots of polite chatter and jokes, Steve excused himself to use the bathroom with a soft and slightly apologetic smile to Bucky, who remained sitting silently on the couch, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt.

“You know, you shouldn't worry. I'm not afraid of you,” said Sam. “I mean, well, okay, I'm a bit afraid of you, but that's expected. But I see the way Steve looks at you.”

“The way he looks at me,” repeated Bucky very slowly. He looked up then, meeting Sam's piercing eyes. Sam was intense, but not in a frightening way. He was a great guy, and he could see why Steve became such fast friends with him. Sam smiled at him endearingly.

“He trusts you. That's why he's doing this,” Sam said, hand flicking towards the shield and the suit. “He knows you're a good guy. Even if you are an assassin, he has good moral judgment.”

As Steve returned, Sam stated chatting calmly with him again. Bucky was stiff, hands to his sides, head pointed down at the floor, at his knees, at anything but Sam or Steve. Steve must have realized that something was on Bucky's mind because he scooted a little closer to him and placed a strong but gentle hand on his back. Bucky sat upright, surprised by the contact, but soon settled into it, feeling a little less anxious with every moment that passed while the other men chattered on.

Soon, the two of them left, thanking Sam for his generosity, and thanking him for taking on such a great responsibility.

“James,” Sam said as Steve walked down the steps. Bucky turned around. It was weird to be called by that name.

“What?”

“You know he cares about you, right?” Sam smiled, but there was something a little sad in the shape of his eyes.

“You coming, Buck?” Steve shouted. Bucky looked at Sam once more, who met his glance with a small wave, and muttered a “goodbye” his way before he jogged over to Steve.

  
–-

  
The bright red light from his alarm clock stared at him from the coffee table. Bucky didn't even use it-- Steve had bought it for him and set it up next to his place on the sofa. (“We should really get you a bed, Bucky. Let's go to Ikea one of these days.”) Bucky stared as the little lines changed from 1:59 AM to 2:00. Sam's words rang in his head. He knew that Steve cared about him, knew that he put down the shield just for him, but something about the way that Sam said it made it stick in his mind, like a broken record. He cares about you. He cares about you. He cares.

Bucky sat up and took off his sweaty t-shirt, wandering like a zombie to the bathroom to wash his face. After combing his fingers through his hair, he pulled it back into a messy loose ponytail. He picked up the bottle of bright green mouthwash from the shelf, swishing the bad taste in his mouth away. After spitting it out and rinsing out with water, he looked up into the mirror again.

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he said softly. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

Initially, that name had felt strange in his teeth, left him feeling cold and distant. But with every passing day, it grew on him. He liked the way Steve called him Bucky more than anything, though.

“My name is Bucky,” he murmured into the mirror, and smiled, just a little.

Switching off the bathroom light, he stepped into the hallway. His footsteps were as quiet as snowflakes landing on concrete as he stepped past Steve's room, then stopped as he noticed that the light was on. Why didn't he notice that before? He stepped towards the door, careful not to make a sound, and listened.

“Times were different back then,” he heard Steve say. Then he heard another voice respond.

“You really think that out of all the things he's forgotten, that he'll still have outdated political opinions? Look at yourself.” It was Natalia Romanova. Bucky could tell that they were talking about him.

“I never talked to him much about politics, other than when we talked about the war.” Steve sighed. “I was never against it, just scared. Scared about the fact that I felt like that. I don't know how he felt. That wasn't something we spoke about.”

“He's lost his memory, Steve. He may be remembering bits and pieces, but... He's not the same man that you knew back then. And I don't think he ever will be.”

Those words shot through Bucky like a bullet. It's true, he would never be the same. And as he remembered things about before the fall, he also remembered things about after the fall, about Zola and about that horrible operating table and about the shocks and the torture and murders he committed. He knew that it had been him that pulled the trigger, that slit throats, that drowned and stabbed and shot and mauled and snapped the necks of more people than he could count. And those memories were the ones he feared recovering the most.

“I know he's not the same,” said Steve, and Bucky was shaken out of his thoughts, of his shame. “And I don't care. I'm not the same, either. I changed so much from the serum alone that he almost didn't recognize me. And that was before I woke up here. People change. Some of them for the better, some of them for the worse. Some get broken, twisted, corrupted, and used, but even through that, they still have good in them. He was hurt so bad, Nat. And even though he's so very different, so broken, so sad, I still...” Steve trailed off. Bucky shivered. It felt like something was welling behind his eyes, like he was going to cry. But nothing came out.

“Then I believe in you. Just... Be careful,” Natalia added, and he heard her stand, the heels of her boots clicking as she walked slowly towards the door. “I'll let myself out. Get some sleep.”

Bucky moved quickly but silently to the couch through the dark apartment, lying down and turning away.

Natalia Romanova walked into the room alone.

“I know you're awake,” she said, her voice just a notch above a whisper. Bucky sat up. “And I know you were listening. You may be invisible to most people when you want to be, but those of us who are invisible tend to be able to see others.”

“What you were saying about me... About who I was. I don't understand what all that meant,” Bucky said after a long silence.

“Ask him,” Natalia responded curtly, before she left, closing the door behind her quietly. Bucky heard her boot-heels clicking in the hallway as he stood. He walked back to Steve's room, where the light was still on, and the door was cracked open just a bit. Bucky reached forward, pressing it open a little more, and he slipped silently inside.

-–

Steve was sitting on the edge of his bed, and he looked up from the small paper notebook he had been holding with a slightly shocked expression.  
“Bucky... What is it?”

“What were you two talking about?” Bucky demanded harshly. He could feel the emotion welling up behind his eyes again, and this time, he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold back tears.

“Bucky, I'm sorry, it was nothing. We were just--”

“Just tell me,” Bucky spat. He didn't like shouting at Steve, but he needed to desperately. The harsh words clawed their way out of his mouth.

Even though he was fond of Natalia, he couldn't shake this image that was burning in his head, of Steve and her sitting on Steve's bed at 2 am. It burned as red as her hair behind his eyes, and he knew it was wrong to feel jealous about it, knew he wouldn't ever get Steve to feel that way for him anyways.

“Bucky, please,” Steve said, standing from his place on the edge of the bed. Bucky looked at the bed, saw the indentation where Nat had been sitting, and he somehow felt worse. If he was Steve's best friend, then why was he keeping secrets from him? Why was he talking about him like he wasn't there? Why wouldn't Steve just talk to him directly?

“We were talking about you, about your memories, about how I could help you get them back.” Bucky could see the desperation in Steve's eyes. But Steve wasn't telling the complete truth. There was something he was hiding. Bucky had a faint little memory then, that Steve was never a great liar.

Steve walked up to him, put his firm hands on Bucky's arms. “Listen,” he said, “You don't need to worry.”

That was when Bucky felt the hotness on his cheeks and his eyes went a bit blurry as tears started to flood down his face. He violently shook Steve's arms off of him, and pushed out the door, down the hall, and to the door. Steve started following him.

“Where are you-- Bucky, please, come back!” was the last thing he heard before he slammed the apartment door and started to run.


	6. extra milk

-

Bucky flicked his lighter open and lit the cigarette he was holding between his teeth. Steve hated it when he smoked. Bucky had been trying to quit, going cold turkey, and he hadn't smoked a single cigarette in 2 weeks. He took a long drag, held it, and then exhaled slowly, letting the smoke leave his tongue in delicate little wisps. He was 15 stories up, sitting on the roof of a hotel on K street.

He sprawled himself out in the center of the roof, feeling the cold surface on his bare skin. He realized a little too late that his shirt was still laying on the floor near the couch in the apartment. And even if there was a store open this late at night, he probably would be turned away due to his shirtlessness. Even if he wanted to buy a shirt. He reached down, feeling his pockets. He had only had 15 bucks on him, and he had spent 8 bucks on the pack of cigarettes, then about 2 bucks on the cheap lighter, so now he only had 5 dollars and some loose change. He would have to return to the apartment eventually. He took another drag, and his mind wandered to the last place he wanted it to be.

Steve.

He couldn't deny it, he loved the way Steve had talked about him, talked about him being different and that being okay, but it felt like lava was being injected into his bloodstream, like he was burning from the inside. He felt an ache in his bones to be near Steve right now. Bucky knew he had probably over-reacted, that he should have stayed with Steve and made him talk, but he wasn't sure what the truth would entail, and that made him so upset, so angry at Steve for hiding things from him, angry at himself for being angry at Steve, angry at himself for undeniably loving Steve.

He was so fucking in love with Steve.

And it hurt him more and more with each passing smile, each gaze, each time that Steve and him ended up a little too close to each other's faces, and Bucky knew he could just lean in and... God, he could hardly stand it.

Another round of tears was beginning to form in Bucky's throat and behind his eyes, and this time he didn't hold it back. He sat up, curled himself inwards, head and arms on his knees, and let himself cry silently.

That was when he heard the clunk of metal landing on the roof behind him.

“Cap's searching the whole city for you. He called us in a panic.” Tony Stark. Bucky didn't turn around. The two of them were on surprisingly good terms, and Tony teased him just as much as he did the other Avengers. But Bucky suspected he was only interested in him because his arm.

“Did you tell him you found me?”

“Nope.” A pause. “Do you want me to?”

“No.”

Tony pressed some button and the suit folded away from him, collapsing neatly into a suitcase. Bucky could hear the machinery, the gears whizzing, the metal shifting quietly.

“I'm not good at this whole pep-talk thing, and I'm probably the last person you'd want advice from, but if you wanna tell me what the hell is happening with you two right now, that'd be great. I came all this way for your ass, I deserve to hear some gossip.”

Bucky hesitated for what seemed like an eternity. “Is Steve... Are Steve and Natasha...?”

“No,” said a laughing voice from about 10 feet away, and Natasha stepped out of the shadows and over to them. “We definitely aren't.”

“Since when were you-- You know what? Whatever.” Tony sighed. “Is Clint here too?”

“Yup,” said Clint.

"God, I'm surrounded by assassins." Tony shook his head.

Bucky was starting to feel uncomfortable. He knew they were all good people, but he didn't know them like he knew Steve. The other two came over and sat with him and Tony. Natasha looked concerned, Tony had an expression that was floating between discomfort and not-giving-a-shit, and Clint, well... Bucky couldn't read Clint. He hadn't ever met him before. Or maybe he had? Clint was watching him, eyes not moving, rarely blinking.

Bucky looked down to his feet.

“Did you talk to Steve tonight?” Nat asked, her eyes revealing that she knew the answer was a yes.

“I thought that you and him...” Bucky didn't look up, but went a little stiffer.

Clint snorted. Natasha elbowed him and whispered “shut up.”

“What did he say to you?” asked Clint.

“He was hiding something.”

The four of them were silent for a little while, until Natasha finally said, “You're in love with him.”

Tony and Clint looked at Natasha, surprised, but Bucky didn't move his head. It was true.

“Wait, you... You and him? Aren't you from, like, prehistoric times?” Tony blurted out.

“It's not like gay people didn't exist back then,” said Natasha, rolling her eyes.

Silence hung in the heavy night air. Bucky could feel every pair of eyes staring at him, boring holes into his skull.

“Just tell him,” said Clint, firmly.

All heads turned towards Clint, including Bucky's. But Bucky was the only one Clint made eye contact with as he repeated himself. “Just tell him how you feel.”

“God, this feels like a high school slumber party,” groaned Tony. Bucky looked to Natasha, and she and Clint exchanged a glance before she turned back.

“Clint is right. Go back to the apartment. He's out searching for you right now, but one of us can say we saw you heading back there. You'll have a little time before he gets home.”

And with that, Bucky jogged back to the apartment, slipped through the kitchen window, and wandered into Steve's bedroom.

–

That was when Bucky saw the drawing notebook.

It was small and worn, edges crumpled and a little torn from being stuffed in bags or pockets too many times. Bucky knew that Steve didn't go anywhere without it, he was always sketching something when he had time. He lifted the notebook off of the bed where Steve had set it down during their last interaction, and sat down with it.

There were drawings of animals, trees, the Lincoln memorial sketched out elegantly. People, too. Bucky found sketches of Sam, of Natasha, of Tony, and of people he had never seen before, of pedestrians, of an old woman on a park bench, and then, there was a drawing of him.

He stared at it. It was different from the other drawings. This one was not drawn lightly, this was drawn with dark lines, shadows. It had every little detail, the very angle of his jawline was almost completely perfect. Bucky saw his own eyes looking back at him from the page. Feeling almost unsettled at the accuracy of the drawing, he turned the page, to discover that every drawing after that was a drawing of Bucky.

There were drawings of him smiling, drawings of him pulling his hair back, drawings of him jogging, drawings of him sitting down across from Steve at a familiar booth in a Starbucks. Bucky's hands were shaking as he turned the page, and found a rough sketch of a man's back -- Bucky's back – bare and curved and detailed and...

Bucky heard the door to their apartment being opened, heard footsteps walking towards the hall, and he set the notebook down. His hands were still shaking a little, but his eyes were dark, his face expressionless.

Steve stepped through the door to his bedroom, and stared at the man sitting on his bed. Bucky stood, meeting his eyes. Steve looked like he was going to burst out in tears.

“For a little while, I thought I'd never see you again.” Bucky was silent. His mind was racing. He knew what he had to do, but he was unsure of himself.

“I'm sorry. I have something I've been meaning to tell you for a while. I shouldn't keep things from you, but I really don't know how you're going to take this.” Bucky watched Steve swallow hard. He stared at those lips, quivering with words hidden just behind them. Bucky's world was spinning around him, and it felt like he was being drowned by the sheer pressure in the room.

Bucky stepped closer.

“Bucky, I--”

The sentence was cut short by lips. Bucky wasn't sure how it happened, but he had practically shoved himself forward into Steve, wrapping his metal arm around his waist and holding the back of his neck with his genuine one. And he was kissing him.

For a moment, he was unsure of whether Steve was going to kiss him back, but all his doubts were erased when those big hands pulled Bucky even closer and Steve brought the kiss deeper, sucking on Bucky's lower lip and allowing his mouth to open wider, allowing Bucky's tongue access to that delicious mouth. Steve's hands were running up and down his body, as if they didn't know where to grab, where to hold, and Bucky gripped Steve's shirt in his hand, holding him tight. When the two of them finally pulled away from eachother, their pupils were dark and their mouths were pink and swollen.

“I love you,” said Bucky. He closed his eyes.

“I love you too, Buck. I've loved you for so long.”

And that threw them into another kiss, this one slower, gentler. Their lips dragged over each other slowly and softly, and Bucky took time to taste Steve.

“You've been smoking again,” Steve said, voice barely above a whisper as he pressed his forehead to Bucky's.

“This feels a hell of a lot better than nicotine,” he responded.

Steve pulled Bucky into a tight hug, his head nuzzling into his good shoulder. Bucky's hands gripped Steve's back, and oh, god, it should be illegal to have back muscles this amazing. He ran his hands slowly down Steve's back, feeling every little curve, every indentation. Steve pressed a small kiss against Bucky's neck.

“I saw your drawings.”

Steve didn't respond for a long time. “Did you like them?”

“Yes.” Steve pressed another kiss to his neck, and then another, and then one on his jawline. Each little touch of lips to skin felt like lightning down his spine.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this,” Steve said, and that was what pushed Bucky over the edge. He pulled Steve's face away from his neck and kissed him roughly, lips dragging over him, and then their tongues met, and Steve's pushed into Bucky's mouth and ran across the roof of Bucky's mouth and Bucky was in heaven.

Bucky grabbed at Steve's sides, pulling him towards the bed, and he could feel his lips curl up into one of those gorgeously mischievous little half smiles, and before he knew it, Bucky had been pushed onto the bed and Steve climbed over him, kissing his lips raw. Bucky rolled him over and put himself on top, and he looked down at Steve, at his flushed face, his pink lips, his neck.. Oh, god, his neck. Bucky lunged, kissing and sucking on Steve's neck, leaving deep red marks all over it. Steve threw his head back, his mouth opening just a little, and Bucky kissed lower until he was at Steve's t-shirt.

There was no way Bucky was going to move his lips away from Steve's skin, even for a second, so he grabbed the shirt by the collar and tore it right off of him, straight down the middle, exposing that beautifully sculpted chest. His lips pushed lower, and with his hands he touched his abdomen, his pecs, and then, with his right thumb, he found one erect nipple and started fondling it while he was sucking at Steve's collarbone. One of Steve's hands had made it onto the back of his neck, and Bucky left a long lick across his most recent hickey before he moved down to suck at Steve's other nipple.

As soon as Bucky's tongue touched it, Steve let out a soft groan that made him feel like he was going to burst out of his pants. He lowered his crotch, grinding over Steve's now very visible erection, and Steve let out another groan, followed by a soft muttering of the word “fuck.” Pleasure rippled through Bucky's body as he kissed down Steve's body, and Steve's hands moved to remove his pants, allowing Bucky's lips access to what was bulging out from under one thin layer of fabric, which Bucky immediately pulled away.

Steve's cock was beautiful, and it was in his mouth in an instant, and Steve let out a gasp of relief and pleasure as Bucky sucked the head of his cock. Bucky hadn't ever done this, as far as he could remember, but he was a fast learner. He realized that when he swirled his tongue around the tip of Steve's cock, Steve let out a quiet moan, and then when he pushed the huge thing deeper into his throat, Steve grabbed his hair, and soon he was bobbing up and down, taking as much of it as he could into his mouth, and Steve was moaning and his hands were grabbing Bucky anywhere he could reach.

“God, I'm gonna cum, Bucky,” he gasped, and Bucky pulled his head off of Steve's cock and pumped it with his hand until a huge load of thick semen shot out from it, hitting Bucky's chest, neck, chin. The two of them gazed at eachother for a moment, then Steve pulled Bucky up to him so he was straddling his chest, and he made quick work of his pajama pants.

It wasn't that Bucky's cock was small. It really wasn't small at all. He had a reasonably long and thick cock. Steve's hands were just so _big_. And one of those hands wrapped around that cock and started pumping, and Bucky's knees went weak, and he could barely contain his voice from escaping. And then the other hand grabbed Bucky's ass, and pulled him closer, and then Steve's mouth wrapped around his cock swiftly, taking it all the way into his throat in one move. His hips jerked forward as Steve held him there, his hand massaging his ass, and then Steve started sucking up and down him, the hand that was on his shaft moving to touch his testicles, and Bucky groaned deep. He knew he couldn't last long with that tongue doing all the right things to him, with that hand kneading his ass.

“Fuck, I'm...” Bucky groaned out, but before he could finish talking, Steve pulled his cock deep into his throat again, and Bucky's world went white, and he was cumming deep into Steve's mouth. Steve swallowed it up, sucked every last drop out of Bucky's cock, then let it fall from his mouth. Bucky kissed him, sliding his body back down so he was lying on top of Steve. He could taste his cum on Steve's tongue, and the mess on his chest stuck to Steve's as well, and he felt messy and dirty and perfect. Bucky rolled to the side, and Steve broke away for a moment, grabbing what was left of his t-shirt and wiping the cum off of both of them.

“We can shower in the morning,” Steve murmured, kissing Bucky again.

Bucky smiled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmkay, here it is. I'm pretty certain next chapter will be the last, and yes, I'm already working on a shower scene for you guys. Thank you so so so so so much for reading, this is only my second Steve/Bucky fic and i'm still getting a hang of their characters, but i hope to write lots more! Thank you again for all your support.


	7. vanilla latte

\--

The hot water felt good on Bucky's skin as he shampooed his hair thoroughly, suds oozing between his fingers. It was about 8 am, and he had woken up about 10 minutes earlier in the arms of the beautiful Steve Rogers. Getting out of bed had proven to be a challenge, as Steve had gently pulled him back as soon as Bucky started to slip out of his hold. Steve's sleepily content smile made Bucky's heart pound, and he placed a kiss on his forehead before he had pushed his way free from Steve's arms. He heard the bathroom door open and close as he continued to shower, and he turned around as his friend – was friend the right word? – stepped in.

Showering also proved to be quite a challenge.

Steve had taken it upon himself to lather up Bucky, covering him in bodywash and rubbing every part of him, and Bucky couldn't help but arch into his touch. His hands were gentle but firm, massaging suds into his chest, his back, his shoulders, his ass... Bucky rubbed his hands along Steve's chest, mesmerized by the way he was being touched. His breathing was shallow and he felt a little bit dizzy with lust as he pushed his body against Steve's while Steve grabbed his ass with one hand and gave it a squeeze.

It wasn't long until Steve had taken both of their cocks in his hand and started jerking them off. Bucky groaned quietly as he watched their wet, hard cocks rub against eachother sloppily. Bucky took his right hand and laced his fingers into the mix, and soon they were both thrusting into their joint hands and grabbing at eachother with their free ones. Bucky pressed his fingers against the huge hickeys he had left all over Steve's neck, and Steve had a hand rubbing up and down his sides which soon moved back to Bucky's ass, grabbing and squeezing and kneading it.

Bucky was the first to cum, shooting up over both of their cocks. Steve let Bucky's cock slip away and, his own cock coated in Bucky's semen, jacked himself off, shooting his load on Bucky's chest.

“Mm, better clean up again,” Steve murmured as Bucky rubbed his cum-covered chest.

 

–

 

There were a lot of things that Bucky hated about his time spent at starbucks, but a lot of other things made it better.

He still didn't understand the fancy drinks, the weird names for sizes, or the appeal of the crappy coffee. He didn't like that it was always so busy, either.

The girls behind the counter still flirted with Steve whenever he went up to order, Bucky still barely drank his coffee, and still made fun of whatever fancy drink it was that Steve ordered. 

But there was a lot that he liked about the place, too.

He liked the way Steve would hold his hand under the table. Especially the way that he rubbed his thumb, traced circles on his skin. He liked how Steve would smile when he looked at him, and he couldn't help getting a little flustered every time Steve complimented him.

He liked it when Steve brought his drawing notebook and sketched him. “Jesus, Rogers, isn't that a little dirty for this early in the morning?” he would say, and Steve would shush him with a mischievous grin.

He loved how Steve teased him by sipping on his drinks so tantalizingly, and Steve knew it drove him mad, so he did it constantly. Steve's legs would brush against Bucky's thigh, and Bucky would feel his face flushing just a bit, but he would try to keep a straight face.

Most of all, he loved Steve.

 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a short ending, but i hope you liked it!  
> i'm working on some new stuff too so stay tuned <3


End file.
